


Solo And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Anonymous



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Soap Opera Styled Amnesia, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Despite her best efforts to freak out, Miss Waverly's clipped words and pleasant demeanor did go on to allay her brief panic. She seemed to have escaped the CIA temporarily to find herself working with yet another dodgy group in the alphabet soup of secret organizations. Her new partners were - and this was the real doozy - the East German kid who looked like he was seconds away from either throwing a punch or hugging Josephine, and the woman. The Russian. The one Josephine wanted to climb like a tree.In which Josephine Solo's immediate reaction to being diagnosed with amnesia is to flirt with the pretty Russian woman. Too bad her day could be a little better.Okay, a lot better.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Fics, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	Solo And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rurtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rurtle/gifts).



> Dear Rurtle - I tried combining two of your prompts together and I hope I came up with something that you will like! I had a lot of fun writing this :)

They fluttered, but she was unwilling to open her eyes yet.

Not for the last time, she reconsidered her life - one where the throbbing headache could mean either of her two alternatives with equal probability - a mission gone awfully, remarkably wrong (Jesus, she hoped this one didn't come with its own monologuing villian), or one that went so right that the thrice-cursed, hopelessly cliched monologuing villain might have been preferable to the celebration-induced hangover. 

"Solo?"

If her captor wanted to sound more intimidating, they probably should try losing that concern in their voice. At least the tall drink of water in front of her looked the part, right up till the furrowed eyebrows. A nurse, perhaps, although not like any she had seen before. For one thing, Josephine was certain that no respectable member of the medical fraternity would have hands that trembled the way the woman's did. For another, did they even make them like that outside of pin-up posters?

Judging by the clumsily disguised cough, clearly that last part did not stay confined to the bounds of Josephine's brain. "So if you aren't my nurse, and unless you want to inflict serious captive bonding with how good these lodgings are, I must ask - who the hell are you?"

The woman cursed under her breath in what sounded like Russian before beating a hasty retreat from the room. It was only when Josephine noticed how impossible it would be for her to pour a glass of water herself (considering the state she was in) did she regret her impulsive question that led to the other's departure. She sighed. Awake for five minutes and already it was a long day.

***

1965\. That was two years of memories she was currently missing. The doctors did try to reassure her that it was only temporary, though of course temporary could mean it would return in an hour, a day, a week, a mo-

Josephine tried not to choke on the water that she was handed earlier. Despite her best efforts to freak out, Miss Waverly's clipped words and pleasant demeanor did go on to allay her brief panic. She seemed to have escaped the CIA temporarily (yeah, like she was ever going to go back to Sanders' clutches now) to find herself working with yet another dodgy group in the alphabet soup of secret organizations. Her new partners were - and this was the real doozy - the East German kid who looked like he was seconds away from either throwing a punch or hugging Josephine, and the woman. The Russian. The one Josephine wanted to climb like a tree. 

Once Waverly left, her partners looked at each other, then at her, then back at each other till they were caught in the most underwhelming Mexican standoff ever. Some form of communication must have passed between the two of them and a decision was apparently reached when Gabriel exited with, "I'll bring the car around. And its _your_ apartment."

A beat, and Josephine couldn't resist, "Your apartment? And we haven't even had dinner yet," She wasn't sure if the wink came out right, not with her head still pounding away but Lilya fixed her with an impassive look. "We have," and oh, that accent was doing things to her that would have been embarrassing if Josephine hadn't inured herself to unnecessary emotions like _shyness_ when she was sixteen and trying to enlist in the army. "Several times. You make terrible borscht." 

Huh. That settled that.

***

The drive back to Lilya's place was mostly quiet, save for the occasional words between the two in the front, a conversation that she was left out of, much to her chagrin. Not that she could have contributed a great deal anyway. Keeping half an ear out to ensure they weren't too many complaints about being her nursemaid (this is why she worked better alone - Josephine had been on teams before, she knew what it was like to be a liability and never, ever wanted to repeat the experience, not after she they sold her ou-) she took the time to digest everything they told her so far, adapt the best way she could and get out from under the knowing, penetrating gaze that Lilya aimed at her through the rearview mirror. 

It had to have been her imagination. They were partners sure, maybe battlefield allies; apprehension about Josephine's ability to complete the mission might have understandable. But there was no conceivable reason for Lilya to look at her with that level of consideration for her well-being - not in the hospital, and certainly not right now. Maybe she could chalk it up to Gabriel's too-dangerous-for-New-York-City driving.

Of course, there was no reason Josephine couldn't meet Lilya's eyes (that was a blue she wouldn't mind getting lost in for ages) in the mirror and slowly draw her head back to expose the long line of her neck (seducing men was a job, seducing women was an indulgence, and Josephine had her tricks for both); placing her fingers over an imaginary itch was a blatant excuse. Which was exactly the moment Gabriel jerked the steering wheel to make a sharp left, knocking her uninjured (at that time) side of her head against the window.

She wondered if their mission had included cursed objects.

***

The damp tea towel with the now melted ice was placed at the side table in Lilya's bedroom as Josephine threw open the wardrobe. Lilya's instructions had been clear, change into something that didn't have the stench of the hospital on it, get some dinner, and get into bed. She was shoved through the doors before she could even retort with an innuendo about the last part. 

A quick look through the spartan collection made it evident there was nothing there but oversized nightsuits she could drown in. Nothing remotely sexy. She gave herself half a minute to imagine peeling Lilya out of the horrendous plaid when she suddenly caught sight of - oh. The corner of her mouth quirked up in an almost-grin - she had to admit this was _not_ what she expected to find shoved in the back of Lilya's closet, this lacy, satin-y - was that a peignoir? - filigreed something. It was delicate and short and decadent and everything unlike the Red Peril out there (the nickname made her stumble over her own thoughts, surely Josephine had heard that before, somewhere-). 

Yet she could think of nothing more suited for her to step out in. It fit her perfectly, which in retrospect ought to have tipped her off. Tightening the belt of the outer robe, she sauntered (fuck, but concussion-induced vertigo was the absolute worst) into the living room. "If this is what I found in the bedroom, dorogoya, I'm inclined to believe you have been keeping things from me." 

It happened all at once. Josephine realizing they weren't by themselves to Gabriel exclaiming, "Why are Solo's _things_ in your apartment?" to Lilya spilling the contents of her mug all over the counter. From then on, it was hard to ignore Gabriel mouthing the words _honeypot_ and _together?_ at Lilya but it was harder still to ignore how Lilya stared at her, some unknown and fleeting emotion in her eyes. Josephine was certain she had experienced more awkward moments in this day than in her entire life. Their stare-down continued for a couple of awful minutes before Gabriel muttered a soft, "Verdammt," under his breath and left the apartment. 

In the silence that followed, Josephine had to remark, "I leave my clothes at your place?"

"It was for mission. Post-mission. It-" Whatever Lilya had to say was utterly ruined by the shiver that wracked Josephine's body. "Come," was the abrupt, heavily-accented snap. "You need clothes that will not give you pneumonia."

She let herself be led back into the bedroom, and not because Lilya's cold hands were more comforting than the draft she felt through the peignoir. If she was honest, Lilya's tall form pressed against her even felt nice.

***

"I think I would be up for some chess,"

It had been hours since Gabriel left, the kitchen had almost been set afire while Lilya managed to make lunch - or dinner - whatever it was that was deemed acceptable for her to consume before she was force-fed her pain pills (not quite _forced_ , not when it was so ridiculously obvious that Lilya was trying to look out for her). Still, she was tired of the whole invalid schtick; fiddling the hem of Lilya's too big pants that covered her socked feet (Lilya did not seem like the sort of woman who would possess whimsical socks with baby bears on them and yet-) could only be interesting for that long. The alcohol was placed firmly out of reach (her whine was totally aimed at that beautiful bottle of Scotch placed at the topmost shelf that only Lilya's freakishly, gorgeously long arms could reach, and not at the sliver of skin she revealed as she made the stretch, no way). So if impressing Lilya through her chess skills was what she needed to do to pass the time, then Josephine would power through that as well. 

It started off well. Lilya was distracted enough by the game (and why wouldn't she be, when she was able to beat Josephine so easily, hiding the hint of a lovely smirk behind her fingers as she laid out yet another trap) to not notice Josephine's _other_ actions, how it took barely any effort at all to brush their legs together, how she could disguise her unabashed mooning over Lilya in the form of a glare, how their fingers grazed when Lilya redirected the knight she moved _against the rules_. It was comfortable and warm and unfamiliar in a way it wasn't unfamiliar at all.

She didn't want anything - not even herself with a gauche comment of some sort - to ruin this. 

And oh. Maybe this was no longer about trying to ruffle the feathers of the pretty girl in front of her. Maybe this was-

The chair was pushed back with a loud screech.

"I think I need to- that is, I-,"

Her heart beat frantically against her ribs. Images flashed through her mind, a confusing kaleidoscope that she could only catch fragments of, her and Lilya and Gabriel, the streets of East Berlin, a blonde head disappearing fast under the surface of the water, Lilya standing behind the glass that had Josephine sagging with relief in the metal chair, the rain, a bonfire on a hotel balcony, the sands of Istanbul, escape and laughter and dancing and tears and trust and lo-

The voice calling out her name echoed from miles away. Only her mother ever called her Josephine.

She didn't register the body that broke her fall.

***

Well, if she had been run over by a truck, at least it was on a bright sunny day.

Josephine grit her teeth against the ache in her head, till she realized _what a bad idea that had been_. Her eyes took a while to focus before they spotted the crescent-shaped water stain on the ceiling. Ah. She wondered what sort of extenuating circumstances led her to crash in Lilya's apartment again and how many downed glasses they comprised of. Strange, though, it didn't feel like the aftermath of an _extremely fun_ evening. Not if Lilya sleeping in the hard-backed chair was any indication. All her rustling around must have snapped Lilya out of the uncomfortable sleep, and the sight of her sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed tugged a smile out of Josephine despite the pain.

"I've said this before and I'll say it again. It isn't that you don't make for a very attractive nursemaid, Peril, but you might need some more help in the staying vigilant department." 

That reinstated the sharp attention back in Lilya's eyes. "Solo? You remember?"

It took a second but she did. And oh boy did she wish she could forget all about it (again) and bury her head in the sand and pretend she didn't practically ambush her partner, her _friend_ (because that is what Lilya was before everything else - a friend when Josephine had given up on the concept entirely) with feelings that were supposed to be safely hidden, that only ever showed themselves through bandaging each other's wounds and shoplifting wooden chess sets and flirty words that could be sidestepped as friendly teasing and making fun of Lilya's caps and teaching her to dance-

"Per...Lilya, listen, about yesterday, I-"

She was cut off by soft lips pressed against hers and a still-cold but gentle hand cupping her cheek.

Huh.

Five minutes, and this was already proving to be an interesting day.

***

"So, they said it was amnesia? And not once did Gabriel suggest knocking me upside the head again to restore my memory?"

Lilya's laughter was softer but lighter now as she stirred some more cream into her coffee. "He was close. But I think you scared him," She could hear the unsaid _you scared me_ that made her want to reach out and reassure the other woman by twining their fingers together, and she remembered that she could now. She could do that, and it would be welcomed. Reciprocated even. There would be time for more confessions and questions and wondering about the future. But for now, she was content to drape her legs over Lilya's lap and pull her in closer for another kiss.

***

**Author's Note:**

> This was delightful to write and I hope you enjoyed this! Happy Holidays :)


End file.
